


Bury a Friend, Raise a Lover

by Methuselah87



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-01 19:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Methuselah87/pseuds/Methuselah87
Summary: After the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale seem to be slipping into a new kind of friendship the angel doesn't fully understand.





	1. Good Omens

**Author's Note:**

> If you love me you'll give this playlist a listen as you read this.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhqhU_G1-u4&list=PLVW2mN5EV_l692EXV1l5PcT_Qo1sxmb_0

          It didn’t take long at all for things to go back to normal after the debacle that was the apocalypse. Aziraphale’s bookshop was back, Crowley had his beloved car and his sunglasses, and Adam was what he’d always been – a little boy in a big world. The skies weren’t always blue above Adam’s little town, nor were the Augusts nearly as hot or long, but he’d much rather come home miserable to his human parents and his former hellhound, Dog, than to rule for all eternity over the remnants of the Earth. After all, it wouldn’t really be a kingdom, but simply the remnants of everything that he holds dear to his heart. And that wouldn’t do at all. His friends strongly agree.

          Still, despite everything, there was a flavor of change in the air. Aziraphale found his frequent visits from Crowley becoming more and more frequent these days. When the weather was poor or the sun was shining, when the streets were packed or when they were empty, every day without fail a black cab pulled up to the curb just outside the bookshop. And when the long, skinny body of the demon would emerge from within, Aziraphale continued feeling the same spark of excitement that he always felt when they met. It was electric, a sort of spike of adrenaline that reminded the angel that he was about to be fraternizing _with the enemy_.

          If he were to be perfectly honest, Aziraphale relished the feeling. It was a rebellion he should be used to by now. The invigorating relationship they shared always gave him joy, despite the conflict he always battled within himself about the whole thing. Even now, as Crowley lounged on Aziraphale’s couch talking about how many things humans did to make their lives more miserable with a wine glass in hand and dark glasses perched on his nose, Aziraphale found that he was just preoccupied with himself.

          How often had he been tangled up in trouble and rescued by this man? How many times had he tried to spurn him, only to have him return, as indignant as ever? Quite too many to count. Their tumultuous past was always curious to him. Often he refused to wade into it, probably fearing the answer to the only question he ever wanted to ask, but in his moments of weakness he did wonder what brought Crowley here. Likely it was the common companionship. 6,000 years was a long time to cultivate a relationship. _A friendly relationship, that is_ , Aziraphale reminded himself as he sipped his wine and glanced out the narrow window above his desk. It was already twilight.

          “Fancy a walk?” Aziraphale piped up, interrupting Crowley’s rant.

          Eyebrows furrowed, Crowley halted mid-thought. “What?” He asked.

          “A walk. Come on, I need to stretch my legs,” Aziraphale pressed.

          “A walk.” Crowley absently repeated. “Sure, alright.”

          The two of them put aside their drinks before they walked through the bookshop and into the dying light of the day. Over their heads, the shop bells rang gently, and the heavy click of the lock comforted Aziraphale that his collection was safe. He dropped the key into his pocket. Maybe he could ask Crowley why he hung around Aziraphale so much. Aziraphale liked to think that he was well, likeable, but a demon would normally find angels to be repulsive. Their friendship didn’t make any sense.

          As they walked the streets of the city, Crowley was uncharacteristically silent. Aziraphale would have worried about it had he not been absorbed in his own thoughts. The horizon was finished being a brilliant color, or even a dusty color, but had now eased into blackness. Stars speckled the sky overhead. They passed hotels, parks, and bars. Even in the night people moved about like ants. Their ambition to consume every ounce of energy in life exhausted Aziraphale and Crowley equally. The sound of a crowd drew their ears, and they came across an open-air restaurant lit by strings of round lights. People of every shape and size were chattering and laughing gaily over decadent food. The unearthly couple studied them in passing. Some of the people wore wedding rings, laughing over their champagne, clearly happy – at least for now. There were men and women together, a few tables of women smiling and holding hands together in the electric light, and just one empty table.

          Crowley indicated the space. “Shall we?”

          Aziraphale bobbed his head. “I don’t see why not.”

          They weaved through the bobbing heads to reach their table, barely noticing the menus placed on their table or the glasses of water that accompanied them. Neither could even recall the waiter’s face afterwards. As they sat comfortably within the warm aura of human love, both lost in thought, it seemed that they had never stuck out so badly before. The waiter returned after a moment and Crowley asked for a bottle of red wine. The young man nodded and was gone.

          Then at the same time, they both tried to speak up, resulting in a jumble of words and apologies. They paused awkwardly.

          “Please,” Aziraphale urged. “You first.”

          “Fine then.” Crowley cleared his throat.

          Silence. Aziraphale glanced at him. “Well?”

          “I, uh…”

          “Come on, what is it?”

          “Shut up!” Crowley burst.

          “Can I go at least?” Aziraphale begged.

          “No!” Crowley growled in frustration. “Just give me a moment.”

          The wine came. The young man poured amidst the awkward silence, quickly making his retreat once his work was done. Aziraphale sipped the concoction delicately, making a small sound of approval, but that approval turned to surprise as Crowley swallowed his drink in one gulp before pouring himself another.

          “Whatever is wrong?” The angel asked. “You usually make a declaration before we get ridiculously drunk.”

          Crowley chugged his second glass, too. He stared at the droplet still hanging on the lip of the delicate goblet for a beat of time. “Move in with me.”

          Aziraphale choked on his wine. “W-what?” He sputtered.

          “Move in with me.” Crowley repeated, looking over at him. He slowly licked the drop of wine from the lip of the glass.

          Scoffing, Aziraphale stared at him. “Whatever for?”

          Crowley poured himself a third glass of wine, his slender hands as still as pond water. “Why do you even have that bookshop? You don’t ever sell a thing.”

          “That is purely intentional, I assure you,” Aziraphale protested.

          “But you don’t _need_ the shop,” Crowley pressed. “I have plenty of room for your books. I can even build you a proper library! No one would ever need to come near your precious collection ever again. Besides, aren’t you bored of it? It’s so droll to see you doing the same thing every day – chasing people off. Surely you’ve gotten tired of it by now.”

          “You would build me a library?” Aziraphale whispered.

          “Sure. It’s not so hard. Anyway, it’s a better place than those hap-hazard piles you’ve got going. I don’t know how you find anything in there.”

          Awestruck, Aziraphale blinked rapidly. “You’ve never mentioned this before. Why now?”

          “You know why!” Crowley gesticulated at the sky with his glass, sloshing the wine dangerously in the goblet. “They’ve gone and left us alone! For the first time, we are totally autonomous! We’ve always had a grand time, haven’t we? Guillotines and crepes and the Ritz and all that? Well, now we can have it _all the time!_ ”

          Aziraphale couldn’t help a quirky smile from parting his lips. “Crowley. Us? Roommates?”

          “Sure, why not?” Crowley waited for an answer. When he didn’t get one, he put down his glass and leaned towards his friend. “Truly, why not? You’ve got something better going?”

          “No, but-”

          “Then what’s the problem?” Crowley asked. “You’re the only one who gives a damn about me, and I’m the only one who gives a damn about you. Why shouldn’t we join forces?”

          “I’d say that we already have.” Aziraphale said honestly.

          Crowley shook his head. “Not like this. We could do anything we wanted, _anything!_ No worrying about these humans to muck it all up. Just you, your books, me, and as much alcohol as we can consume.”

          “Is that why you kept coming back?” Aziraphale asked suddenly. “Because you think that you’re the only one who “gives a damn” about me?” He gasped at the jab of pain he got at the utterance of a swear, grabbing his temple.

          Crowley poured the angel more wine. “Drink up, angel.”

          “Was that an order, or a lewd suggestion?” Obeying him, Aziraphale took a long draft and sighed. “I want to know, Crowley,” he said, meeting the demon’s eyes – or at least the dark lenses behind which his eyes were concealed. “Why _did_ you keep coming back?”

          For a moment, Crowley said nothing. He glanced around at all the happy humans and shrugged helplessly. “I dunno,” he said. “You were the only thing to come back to.”


	2. Bad Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone recently complimented my work ethic on the job and I cried in my car.

            Aziraphale said he’d think about it. He went home alone, leaving Crowley on the sidewalk outside the bustling restaurant as a tall, bent shadow over his shoulder. A black cab came by and Crowley hailed it. The seats were brand new, and the cab smelled of lilac and linen, and the cabbie was an old woman who looked about as old as he was. Out his window, the city streets seemed emptier. Patches of light flashed by as the cabbie drove him home, or at least to the house that passed for home these days. He’d been thinking about buying a new one lately. Maybe building one would feel more fulfilling. He tried to picture the sharp Victorian architecture with the sweeping arches and the tall, thin windows. One of those would do. Probably.

            The thing was, Crowley hadn’t really ever felt at home in any of his houses, and there had been quite a few over the millennia. He grew his plants. He brooded in his study. He drove his car – sometimes. But there was nothing keeping him there. Not really. That’s probably why he so often bothered Aziraphale. He _felt_ bored but it wasn’t exactly like he _was_ bored. He could brood in silence forever, yell at his plants, and mess things up for the humans forever and not get bored. His problem had become bigger than boredom. Sometimes he felt bored with his life, and lately all the fun they’d had together had really sparked something in him that wanted a change of pace, but he had no earthly idea how a demon was supposed to change. He’d been different before. Complacent. Now…

            Despite his heavy drinking the buzz Crowley felt was barely able to curb the waves of disappointment crashing against his ribcage. What a dreary feeling. What, had he thought Aziraphale would actually take him up on his offer? He’d be a shit roommate. Who was he kidding? He never did his own laundry. His toothbrush looked like it had been mugged. There were no benefits for Azi to live with him.

            When the cab stopped, he didn’t move. “Your stop, dearie,” the ancient woman rasped.

            “Yes, well it’s not quite home, is it?” Crowley said wearily.

            “Got a boyfriend?”

 _"What_ did you just say?” Crowley squeaked.

            “Marry up, dearie,” she piped. “A family makes a home. No use living all alone in that big place.”

             Crowley paid his fare and got out. He watched her pull away with a slump to his shoulders. “Family,” he grumbled. “Rubbish.” Turning on his heel, he stalked into his house, slamming the door shut behind him. He went right to his study, grabbed his spray bottle, and went to yell at his plants.

            So what if he was lonely? Everybody was lonely! Existence was a one-man experience. There was no one to hold your hand through all the shit that happened when you were alive. At least… not in his experience. Sometimes he saw humans holding hands for all sorts of reasons, but it never really seemed to last. They’d go home and sleep in different rooms in different beds, barely speaking again until the next meal time. Why even bother with companionship if it was so… empty? He scoffed at himself as he roamed the halls, spray bottle in hand, irritated about his own needs. All these years he’d been just fine with being alone. It’s just… every now and again… he got lonely. He’d been everywhere and done everything. What else was left but some kind of something, or… some _one_?

            Crowley’s brain hurt. He wasn’t used to thinking about this kind of thing. Seeing Aziraphale every day really taken a toll on his complacency. In comparison to their long conversations and all the adventures they’d had this passed decade, his old life seemed so _boring_. So today he’d decided to ask Aziraphale to make their relationship, well, more permanent. Of course he said no. He had his quiet little life, his shop, his hobbies, and Crowley had… plants. Halfway through his house, he had put his spray bottle down and now he couldn’t find it again. Throwing his arms up in defeat, he gave a frustrated cry and stormed off. Slinging himself into the couch, Crowley used a small remote to turn on his sound system. The last tape in the tape deck began playing. It was Men at Work. He let his head fall back against the couch. At some point, he started hearing something, so he carefully paused the tape and strained his ears against the silence. Yes, there it was. A jazz song was playing from the little old lady below him. He zeroed in on its soft tone and its lyrics of love. It appealed to him in a base, musty kind of way.

_“Sometimes I wonder why I spend_

_The lonely nights dreaming of a song_

_The melody haunts my reverie_

_And I am once again with you_

_When our love was new_

_And each kiss an inspiration_

_Oh but that was long ago_

_And now my consolation_

_Is in the stardust of a song…”_

 

            When the morning sun rose, Crowley realized that he had been sitting in silence for over six hours. He got up and went to the fridge where a perfectly fresh mango was sitting in wait and he bit into it, skin and all, wandering to the window as he ate. Maybe he should go on vacation. After all, things changed. Well, they changed into more of the same, but they’d certainly look different he supposed. He shook his hands and they cleaned themselves of the mango debris as he headed for the study, where his stupid computer lay dark and silent. _No,_ he thought, _better go to a shop and ask somebody who knows about travel._

* * *

 

 

            In contrast to his ancient friend, Aziraphale was sipping cocoa in his shop, sitting behind the messy countertop, thinking about nothing at all. He was quite good at that. There was really nothing pressing to bother him besides the Crowley situation, and since he figured that would resolve itself, he needn’t bother himself with the whole thing. Sooner or later Crowley would get over his whole “roommate” phase and go back to normal. Well, whatever was normal for a demon, anyway.

            Something still nagged at the back of the angel’s mind, though. He’d thought and thought about why Crowley would be willing to build him an entire library for his collection, make him close his shop, and have him move in to his squeaky clean little flat, but he could only come back to yet another strange anomaly; whenever he was adventuring with Crowley, he sensed a strong feeling of positive emotions around each area they visited - love. It had been there in Tadfield, often times around the city, and even here in the bookshop once or twice. Now that he thought about it, right now there was no love in the store whatsoever. Only one person was browsing his wares at the moment and it seemed they were avidly avoiding the people outside more than they were interested in his collection. So now Aziraphale had two conundrums instead of one. He sighed lightly and sipped his cocoa. Later, after his shop closed for lunch, he’d have to conjure some marshmallows for his next cup.

            “Azi!” The door banged against the wall as Crowley burst in, waving a handful of pamphlets. “Let’s go to Rio!”

            Aziraphale flushed. “Crowley! What do you mean, Rio?”

            Crossing the room in two strides, Crowley neatly arranged each pamphlet on top of the mountain of paperwork and novels that consisted of the countertop, pointing to one in particular with a colorful cover. He was red in the face and all a-fluster. “They have a huge religious population and it’s one of the most dangerous cities in the world! It’s _perfect_ for a vacation!”

            “Who said anything about needing a vacation?”

            “I did!”

            “Crowley…”

            “Come on,” the demon begged. “Close the shop for a week and come with me! We’ll have loads of fun with the locals. And I bet you’d love South American food!”

            Aziraphale angrily set his half-finished cocoa aside. “Antony Crowley, I don’t know _what_ has gotten into you lately! First you ask me to move into your flat, which you barely use, and now you want me to go off to Rio with you! It’s been ages since I left England, you know that! I can’t just _abandon_ my _shop!_ ”

            Crowley was blushing. He always did when the angel called him by his full name. “What I can’t understand is why your “shop” seems to be more important than anything even remotely concerning _me_ ,” he hissed. “Why can’t you just do something for _me_ for a change?”

            Staring at him, Aziraphale shook his head. “I can’t possibly know what you mean.”

            “Sure you do!” Crowley threw up his hands. “I’m the one always swooping in to save your feathery arse! Without me, you’d have been guillotined, burned at the stake, or even drowned by now, Aziraphale! And in all that time, can you name a single thing you’ve done in return? A single tiny favor? No? No!” Shaking his finger at Aziraphale, Crowley scowled. “You’re too obsessed with your posh coat and your dingy little book shop! Heaven forbid you come down off that pedestal for-” Crowley visible winced at the celestial word, his jaw dropping and his face contorting in surprise pain, “-any reason a’tall,” he finished angrily.

            More than a little put-off, Aziraphale gaped at him. “Who gave you holy water?” He argued. “Who risked his neck every time we had a meeting, just so you could propose that we fly off into the sunset instead of preventing the apocalypse? Who _found_ Adam Young?! Really, Crowley!”

            _“Really, Crowley!”_ The demon mocked in a southern accent, ripping off his sunglasses so Aziraphale could see the burning fury in his yellow snake eyes. “You angels are all the same! Self-righteous and selfish! Fine, you get on with your little life _without me!_ ” The door slammed again, this time in closing, and the bells overhead rang violently as Crowley stormed away down the sidewalk, yelling for a cab as he went. Aziraphale stared after him, aghast. A turbulent mixture of anger and confusion had snatched the words from his lips. Silent, alone, he sat with his hands on the counter to steady himself, watching the people stroll ignorantly by the shop window as though nothing had even happened.

            “Goodness,” said the young girl in a drab sweater. She’d been hovering in the corner pouring over biblical texts for the duration of the debacle but now she was peering through her round glasses at the door. “Lover’s spat?”

            “Hardly,” Aziraphale managed, and shakily picked up his cocoa.


	3. Chapter 3

            Aziraphale finished his cocoa and closed the shop. He put on his nice white coat on his way out the door, and hailed a cab to Crowley’s flat. Not that he had any idea about what to say to him, but something told the angel that if he didn’t fix this now that it would be another millennia before they were friends again. They’d finally gotten on friendly terms. It’d be a shame to ruin it now. Sighing, he fiddled with his fingers in his lap, watching the city inch by in the traffic. He’d never felt that kind of hurt in Crowley’s voice before. It frightened him more than it angered him, to be perfectly honest, and not for himself. Ever since they’d come back from Tadfield things had been different with him. Crowley had been more emotional, chattier, and even more physical. He’d always been so laissez-faire and detached about life, even from his duties as a demon, so it was mind boggling to see him suddenly grab a desperate hold on things.

            Never before had Aziraphale figured Crowley for an emotional being. Soft, sometimes with Aziraphale he was soft, and often quick to anger, yes, but emotional? Never. Even when his beloved car melted in front of his eyes he’d been – mostly – composed. Aziraphale had never feared his friend, not even for a moment. Both of them were quite above that sort of thing. Weren’t they?

            Knocking hard on Crowley’s front door, Aziraphale raised his voice above its normal light whisper for once. “Crowley,” he called. “Come out here. We need to talk.”

            “Go away. No one lives here,” Crowley slurred from somewhere deep inside the flat.

            “Crowley, please open the door,” Aziraphale softened. “I need to speak with you.”

            “Mmmm… no.”

            Aziraphale scoffed. “I must insist, dear friend. It’s urgent.”

            Silence. Aziraphale held his breath. Suddenly a heavy lock slid aside and Crowley appeared, disheveled, a bottle of brandy half empty in hand. His yellow eyes squinted out at his friend. “I told you I wanted me gone. You wanted me be gone. We gone. Rio.”

            Aziraphale sighed, searching Crowley’s face for a flicker of intelligent thought. “You’re drunk.”

            “And?” Crowley said incredulously.

            “Go sit down,” Aziraphale said, brushing passed him into the flat. Surprisingly, Crowley shrugged dramatically and obeyed, slouching onto the couch. Aziraphale shut the door and came to stand in front of him, hands on his hips. “You’re upset.”

            Scowling, Crowley looked at him. “Am I?”

            “Yes. Tell me why.”

            “It’s all the damn _pollen_ …”

            “Crowley, I’m worried about you,” Aziraphale snapped. “Be serious! Please!”

            Crowley eyed him. “As serious as a heart attack?”

            “Yes.”

            Crowley thought about this. “Okay,” he muttered. “You’re here so… okay.” He struggled to sit up. “What am I talking about?”

            Aziraphale spread his hands. “You’re upset with me. Tell me why.”

            “You’re my best friend… I want to be with you.”

            Crowley offered him the bottle and the angel took it gingerly. Taking a sip, Aziraphale winced. A bad year brandy. Heavens. “You visit me every day – we’re always together.”

            “Not… no.” Crowley rubbed his head. “You don’t get it.”

            “You want me around more, is that it?”

            “Yes.”

            “All the time?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?” Aziraphale pressed.

            Shrugging again, Crowley put his hands on his knees. “You’re my best friend.”

            “Yes, but why do you need me _every minute_ of the day?”

            “Because you’re my best friend.”

            “Friends aren’t together every minute.”

            “I want _more_ ,” Crowley emphasized. “I _need_ more. Ever since the apocalypse thing all the fun in things has been all sucked up. Gone. Poof!” He made a wavy motion with his hand.

            Aziraphale took a big gulp of the brandy. This was really not going well. Sure, he may get the truth with Crowley absolutely plastered, but at what cost? He cleared his throat loudly. “What _exactly_ do you want from me, Crowley? And be specific, I don’t want there to be anything unsaid between us.”

            “But I’ve _told_ you already.”

            “Tell me again, but say it in a different way.”

            “I want you to live in my flat, with me,” Crowley managed.

            “Why?”

            “Because you’re my best friend.”

            “And?”

            “And,” Crowley drawled. “I kind of… sort of… maybe… love you…”

            Aziraphale wheezed. “Pardon me, you _WHAT?!”_

            “What, didn’t you know?” Crowley asked dumbly.

            The angel felt himself turn beet red. “ _You neglected to mention that!_ ”

            “My fault, I thought it was obvious,” Crowley mumbled, more to himself than to Aziraphale. “I’m quite bad at masking my aura. Have been since the beginning – never really got the hang of it.”

            Aziraphale gasped, jabbing a finger at him accusingly. “YOU! So _YOU’RE_ the source of the _love_ I’m always bumping into!” He released a sound of frustration and grabbed his head. “ _Crowley, for Heaven’s SAKE!_ Why didn’t you _SAY_ anything?!” Now he was yelling, angrier than he’d been in a long time, but why he couldn’t quite say.

            Getting up, stumbling a little, Crowley pushed back his blazer to rest his hands on his bony hips and leaned forward indignantly. “What the hell was I supposed to say?!” He retorted. “It wasn’t as if _I_ knew what was going on, either!”

            Aziraphale whirled on him. “How did you NOT KNOW?!”

            “I’M AN IDIOT!” Crowley barked.

            “SINCE WHEN?!”

            “SINCE ALWAYS, YOU BLOODY IDIOT!”

            “I CANNOT…!” Aziraphale stopped and turned away to compose himself. He folded his hands beneath his nose and took a long, slow, deep breath, and took his time in releasing it. “I cannot understand you.”

            Behind him, Crowley gave a disgusted sigh and sat back down heavily, his face in his hands. “I’ve mucked it all up.”

            Calmed, Aziraphale carefully turned to face his unknown lover. His eyes were full of emotion. “No, of course not,” he whispered. “I’m just surprised. Shocked, even. How was I supposed to know that you were in love with me? You didn’t even know yourself!”

            Crowley was positively pink. “Well don’t go spreading it around like butter!”

            “I’ll try not to,” the angel said sarcastically. He sat down beside Crowley, two feet away, both of them staring out the window and into the night. “This is so out of character for you.”

            “Tell me about it.”

            “How long have you known?” Aziraphale asked.

            “I…” Crowley cleared his throat. “I suppose I just figured it out.”

            Aziraphale cracked a smile, and their eyes met. “That makes two of us.”

            Crowley held out his hand for the brandy. As the angel handed it over their fingers brushed, and a kind of electricity passed between them. They looked away. Crowley took a big swig of alcohol, likely trying and failing to calm his nerves. Aziraphale stared at his hands. “I know it’s rubbish,” Crowley said quietly. “You don’t have to say it.” When he didn’t get a reply, he bobbed his head, a curtain of hurt and disappointment falling over him. He looked at the bottle of brown liquid with watery eyes. “I’m a demon. You’re an angel. Hell, our friendship was an anomaly in of itself.” He took another swig. “I didn’t expect anything to come of it. It just is.”

            For a few minutes no one spoke. They carefully exchanged the bottle without touching and Aziraphale drank from the same bottle lip, realizing something for the first time. With this bottle, his hand occupied the space that the demon’s hand had just occupied. He was, figuratively speaking, touching Crowley without really touching him and even, with every sip, kissing him without _really_ kissing him! So long as they shared this bottle, or any bottle, they could share their feelings without even the remotest possibility of rejection. It was a barrier between the spoken and the unspoken. It was a tangible, touchable object, and as he grasped it in his ancient hands he realized for the first time that the ball was _finally_ in his court. Crowley had been carrying this burden around with him for so long - but now it was his turn. And something changed. Deep in the angel’s heart, he felt something change.

            Aziraphale got up. “Crowley,” he said softly. “I have a lot to think about.”

            “Right.” After a moment, Crowley got to his feet, too. “Of course.”

            “But I want you to come by the shop tomorrow,” the angel urged.

            Crowley’s eyes softened. “You do?”

            “Of course I do.” Aziraphale smiled at him with stars in his eyes.

            When he handed back the bottle of brandy, Crowley’s fingers settled over top of his on the neck of it, and all of a sudden he hesitated to let go. The demon searched the angel’s face for the reason why. Unfortunately, what he saw he couldn’t fully understand. He didn’t know what to say to his oldest and dearest friend, especially not now that his feelings were out in the open. So instead he said nothing. Aziraphale let go of the bottle, bid him goodnight, and then he was gone, leaving the demon standing, alone in the dark, holding an empty bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The air in the shop was too musty tonight. So Aziraphale sat outside under the stars as the city of London bustled by, his heart in his throat and his mind elsewhere. The white noise of their chatter and footsteps helped calm him. Hands in his lap, fiddling his fingers, the angel tried to sort out all of the things rattling about in his head. Love was very far out of his level of expertise. He'd been courted a few times in the past, by women and sometimes by married men, but it never came to anything. Not only was Aziraphale genderless, he was utterly oblivious when it came to courtship. Flirting went right over his head. He was too polite, too humble, and too preoccupied with his next miracle or his next meal to worry about feelings of romance. Crowley, though, had always been kind to him: the rescues, the lifts home, the long conversations, even covering up for him when he made a particularly bad blunder - they had been polar forces for so long that it was hard for him to think about them as anything else. Sure, he cared deeply for Crowley, but he cared deeply for everyone and everything. Sighing, he had to admit to himself that he did have a soft spot for the demon, in a way that humans had a soft spot for grumpy pets. But Crowley was nowhere near his pet. He was a force of nature, not a dog.

  
Honestly, why did things have to be so complicated? Couldn't they just be friends forever? The best of friends - partners even! He rubbed his face. His own feelings were so tangled that it was quite an ordeal to sort them out. Firstly, he did feel loneliness on occasion. There was really no one to share his time with besides his mortal enemy, but often he just ignored his solitude in favor for his books and his tea. He was always doing research on new first editions, walking the city performing little miracles, and even keeping up with Crowley's drinking habits. But maybe... maybe he shouldn't ignore those feelings anymore. I mean, truly no one looked after him like Crowley had, and no one seemed to love him like Crowley did, which wasn't surprising. He was too oblivious to make very many meaningful relationships. Still...

  
In passing, Aziraphale heard the crying of an infant. He lifted his eyes and spotted a woman pushing a stroller. Beneath her eyes were dark bags, and each stride seemed to take more and more from her energy reserves. He took pity on her. Humans did so much work for their children. As she passed him, he waved a hand in their direction, and the baby fell instantly to sleep. The silence shocked his mother. Relieved beyond belief, she turned around tentatively, terrified of waking him again, and began a quick walk home to her bed. Aziraphale smiled as he watched her leave. Such kindness. Such devotion. He wondered what it was like to be a parent and guide a new person into existence.

  
His own manners and knowledge had been given to him upon his conception. Standing on the wall of Eden, sunlight and the dry air of the desert at his back, he'd fully understood his purpose. Now... he wasn't so sure. The lines had blurred over the years. The apocalypse had been averted by no means of his own, or Crowley's, despite their decade long dedication to Warlock. Even before that he hadn't been given a mission in over fifty years. What had he been doing all that time? Tending books, amusing Crowley? He paused, shocked. There had to be more to life than books and food. There had to be.   
The angel looked up to the heavens. Is that what Crowley meant? A life to share, to make something bigger than himself? Maybe. With this in mind, he sat in silent contemplation for a long time. The people all went home. The city's glow faded. It began to rain. Lifting a white umbrella from thin air, Aziraphale got up from his park bench and kept walking, still too restless to go home. There were very few homeless people in London despite how large and expensive the city was - this was partly because Aziraphale loved long night walks, and whenever he came across someone sleeping outside, he always gave them a little miracle. Just a small push. And before he'd rounded the next corner, a neighboring home owner would come down their front steps and invite them inside. It never failed. Not even once. Aziraphale was pleasantly surprised to see that no one was sleeping under bridges or benches tonight. He smiled to himself. Humans were his life's work. He'd do anything to know them better, to understand their hearts, or even just befriend them. Unfortunately, his posh approach was often considered a joke. He had been laughed at many times for the way he spoke to modern humans. Still, he kept trying. He may be stagnant but they were ever-changing. These days people were much kinder to his outstretched hand of friendship. He never got too close, in case they figured him out, but in doing that he kept everyone at arms length. Crowley was the only person he didn't have to do that with, now that he thought about it.

  
They had always been mano a mano. Two beings squaring off for all eternity. Being able to dine with your enemy was such a rare experience that Aziraphale could never resist the temptation. I guess that meant Crowley was better at his job than he thought.

  
Aziraphale looked up. He was back in front of his own shop. Another sigh slipped from his lips. He was doing that a lot lately. Sighing. He unlocked the door and walked inside, leaving his umbrella in the wooden stand by the door as he headed into the back for a cup of tea. Rain always chilled him. He needed to warm up. Conjuring some marshmallows for tomorrows cocoa, he put them aside, gently stirring his tea with a sugar spoon. He loved his tea with extra sugar. Sipping it, he settled on the couch for a long night of thought and reflection.

 

* * *

 

  
The next morning, Crowley came into the shop just as it opened. He burst in, filled with energy and ripe with anticipation. Aziraphale was waiting for him at the desk. Leaning his arms on the countertop, Crowley slipped his sunglasses down his nose and peered at Aziraphale overtop of them. His yellow eyes burned. “Feeling alright, then?” He asked outright.

  
Aziraphale smiled. “Right as rain. I made a decision.”

  
Crowley stood up straighter. “And? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  
“Let’s go on vacation,” Aziraphale burst.

  
“W-What? Really?”

  
“Yes! Let’s go to Rio, or France, or wherever and spend some time out of London. It’ll be good to see the world again after all this time.”

  
Crowley grinned. “Fantastic! When do we leave?”

  
“First thing tomorrow morning. Bring your sense of adventure.”

  
“And until tomorrow?” Crowley asked warily.

  
Aziraphale motioned to the back of the store. “Want to get plastered all day?”

  
Crowley barked a laugh. “Aziraphale, my old friend, have you become the tempter and I the temptee? Cause I have to say… I rather like it.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of indenting. I tried but Word on my phone sucks.


	5. Chapter 5

            The more they drank, the looser their tongues became and therefore the better the conversation became, until they reached the point of no return which thereafter the conversation did degrade significantly into fragmented sentences, drunken ramblings, and a jumble of noises meant to be British English or Russian. At 4pm in the afternoon, this final stage was reached, and that’s when the pair quit drinking for the first time since 10am. During those 6 hours the following ideas had been uttered: the restoration of Notre dam including one giant aquarium, a book of the last six presidents’ dirtiest secrets as kept by hell, every one of the worst sins as represented by a Muppet, an anime entirely about a bit of Jell-O trying to walk, moving sidewalks in Soho, cloud-blow-away-ing machines, and a conveyer belt for putting children on when they misbehaved. Crowley was still on about the Jell-O bit when they reached the final stage of their drinking. Aziraphale, distraught about the conveyer belt, was still spouting ways to properly punish children in a way that didn’t include a buzz saw and a pair of colorblind glasses.

            Spread across the couch like a fashion scarf, Crowley waved the empty bottle of wine in style as he spoke, his sharp cheekbones casting planes of light along his face. Aziraphale was still talking about conveyer belts but instead of thinking he was looking at the demon the way he’d never thought to look at him before; as a lover. He knew that it was totally against his angelic code to covet anything, especially a person, but he couldn’t quite help himself in this state. His green eyes traveled the slender bow of Crowley’s legs, the flourish and droop to his wrists and he began to feel hot under the collar, hotter even than his own blood normally felt when they were together.

            The angel clutched an empty wine bottle desperately to ground him. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Crowley’s voice was far away now. The tight waist of his blazer and the way his shirt opened quite low, within which a black metal necklace rested cold against his bare chest, was particularly disconcerting. His lips, especially when they curled, revealing the teeth of a demon, gave Aziraphale a horrible feeling deep within him, one that he - frighteningly enough - enjoyed. The way the demon’s body bent in places. The exposure of his throat. The slight tan lines around the outline of his sunglasses. He’d built this form after his original design, but over time it had grown darker and more suave. It did go quite against his personality but the angel liked that contradiction he sported.

 _Wait, I do?_ Aziraphale thought to himself in shock. _What am I thinking?_ Something bad. Something forbidden. He recoiled internally and felt he might be sick. How cruel to think this way about a friend.

            “You look positively pale,” Crowley said suddenly, snapping him from his thoughts. The demon slid off his sunglasses to get a better look. Those yellow eyes bore into Aziraphale. “Have you been drinking enough?”

            The angel’s lips parted. “Too much, I’d imagine,” he managed.

            “Hey,” Crowley frowned, not at all sober. “How come you didn’t want to bugger off the planet with me?”

            “We… had a responsibility… to the planet.”

            “Did we?” Crowley asked quietly. “Or did you have a responsibility to yourself?”

            Aziraphale balked. “W-What do you mean?”

            Long fingers sliding across the glass bottle, Crowley put it aside and swung his long legs to sit up. “We have never been a priority to you, admit it. You only looked out for yourself.”

            “That’s not true,” Aziraphale burst. “I always tried to look out for you! It’s just… there was nothing much to be done. Except for… the holy water fiasco… I didn’t know what to do for you.”

            “Be there.”

            “What?”

            “Just be there,” Crowley slurred. “Thass’all you needed t’do. Be there for me.”

            Aziraphale felt his emotions getting the better of him. Tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Crowley,” he whispered.

            “Wha- don’t cry!” Crowley yelped. “Come on, I didn’t mean it!”

            “But you’re right! I was too frightened to be around you, I wasn’t strong enough for it. I’m such a coward! I should have been there for you because you were always there for ME!” His voice broke, his face twisted up, and tears began rolling down his flushed cheeks. The angel cuddled the bottle like a stuffed animal. “I just can’t do it. I just can’t… be with you that way! It’s too much!”

            Crowley went cold. “What?”

            “I’m such a coward,” Aziraphale repeated, crying softly.

            “Come on now, I apologized,” Crowley said miserably, reaching out and putting a hand on his friend’s knee. “I didn’t mean it. Don’t cry - please don’t cry over a demon, it’s not proper!”

            “Oh, shut up!” Aziraphale sobbed. “You bloody well know how much I care about you!”

            “You do?”

            “Of course I do! It’s… it’s complicated!”

            Crowley quietly pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and gave it to his friend. “Is that why you can’t do it, Angel?” He asked. “You’re afraid?”

            He was so blurry through Aziraphale’s tears. The pathetic face the angel was making bobbed up and down as he covered his face with the kerchief and bent double.

            “It’s okay to be afraid,” Crowley whispered. “I’m afraid of it, too.”

            “You are not.”

            “I am!”

            Aziraphale blew his nose and gave Crowley the angry eyes. “Are not.”

            “What, just because I proposed we fly to Alpha Centri? Don’t you damn well know bravado when you see it?”

            “You were…?”

            “Yes, I was just faking the confidence. You should try it sometime.”

            Aziraphale laughed hard. “Shut up.”

            Crowley studied his red tear-stained face, smiling. “You’re cute when you cry.”

            “Go on, then, I am not!”

            Laughing, Crowley patted Aziraphale’s knee. “Are too.” The angel still looked grumpy about it, so Crowley sat back and thought a little. “I remember how you looked back when we still wore those white dresses. Trimmer. Bolder.”

            Wiping his nose, the angel looked at him warily. “Was I?”

            “Certainly. You gave the first humans your flaming sword! YOU helped them escape! Talk about a rebellious teenager,” Crowley giggled. He leaned forward. “I much preferred you bold, but… I enjoy this soft you.”

            Aziraphale laughed bitterly. “This? I’m positively round!”

            “Are not,” Crowley protested, still smiling. “Just soft.”

            “Soft.” Aziraphale sighed, dabbing the last of the tears from his face. His eyes were swollen now, and his nose was clogged. How embarrassing. Crying in front of a demon, over a demon. He kicked himself mentally. “I don’t understand why you like me so much.”

            Crowley twined his fingers together. “I don’t think you quite understand what I meant before.”

            “Hm?” The angel looked up. “About what?”

            Flushing, the demon waved his hand. “You know! About the love stuff!”

            Aziraphale blinked ignorantly.

            Crowley gave a sigh of annoyance. “I meant,” he began carefully, “that I love you as you are now. Exactly as you are. With no changes, none a’tall.  That’s what I don’t understand about you. You’ve no problem caring about these barbarous humans but when it comes to your own kind, you just have so many hang-ups! I mean, I didn’t even fall so much as… sauntered vaguely downwards.” He made a feathery motion with his hand. “Like that. I mean, I’m still an angel, just a fallen one.” His eyes searched the angel’s for something. “You don’t have to be _that_ afraid of it.”

            Affection, terror, and lust flashed across Aziraphale’s face all at once. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I appreciate you trying to make things easier for me. But I’m just not sure what I can offer you.”

            “I just told you!”

            “Told me what?!”

            “Just BE there!” Crowley exploded. “Just BE there, and be YOU! That’s all I want!”

            “Heavens help me,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning his face in his hands. “I’m so horrid at love. I’m so sorry about this, Crowley.”

            “Stop apologizing and _kiss me!_ ” Crowley said angrily. “I’m so tired of this self-pity rubbish – it’s so boring!”

            “And do what?!” Aziraphale panicked.

            He looked up and suddenly Crowley was in his lap, his long legs crossed and one slender hand on his chest, the other on the back of his neck, his electricity made the hairs there stand on end. The angel was terrified. He sat back in shock, but Crowley curled into him, giving him no space to breathe. Aziraphale, frozen, was mesmerized by the smell of cologne and brimstone. His face was so close that he could smell his fire breath and suddenly that curled sneer was within his biting range. Crowley’s lips parted. “I said… kiss me,” he hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome. Leave a comment


	6. Chapter 6

          “Bloody hell,” Aziraphale breathed. The pain rippled through him at the use of the swear, but it happened at the same moment that their lips met, so needless to say he barely noticed it. It was like kissing a live wire. For Crowley it was much the same, since their opposing polarities were so strong, but his pulse was skittering already. Crowley’s hands were irresistible. No matter what protest Aziraphale could conjure, there was something magnetic about this man’s hands. It was a force that he could not fight even if he wanted to. He was strong, too, which only weakened the angel’s knees even more. When their lips finally parted it was sultry and sickly sweet, like overripe fruit, and both of them were gasping for air.

          “See,” Crowley breathed. “Not so bad.”

          “Oh,” Aziraphale managed, feeling dizzy.

          Crowley hummed and kissed him again, tilting back his chin as he did. His fingertips sank into Aziraphale’s white curls. It was too easy for him. The angel was putty in his hands. He grinned into it, grabbing a handful of Aziraphale’s hair. His free hand found one of the angels – which were clutching the chair’s arms for dear life – and pried it off the upholstery. Crowley put the hand firmly on his waist.

          “Wait,” Aziraphale said feebly.

          Crowley stopped. “What is it?”

          “You’re… can I…? I mean…” Aziraphale stammered.

          “Try it,” Crowley challenged, baring his teeth. “Go on. I don’t bite… much.”

          Petrified, the angel’s shaking hand pushed aside the black necklace and touched the flesh beneath it, pressing his palm flat against Crowley’s breast. Compared to the burning heat of his hands, it was cold, and the angel pressed him hard to warm it. Crowley rolled his body into the touch. “F-Fine?” Aziraphle forced.

          “Not bad,” the demon murmured, kissing him again.

          Aziraphale gasped as Crowley’s adept fingers unbuttoned his shirt. His heart was beating like a jackhammer against his ribcage. Crowley felt it as he touched the angel’s chest, his fingertips trailing through the curly white hairs there. _“Christ…”_

          Crowley shushed him. They kissed languidly, their experimental touching sometimes clumsy, sometimes off, but always tender. Long hours passed. They barely paused to breathe. Wine and lust wafted off them in waves.

          When they’d worked themselves up into a fever, they stopped. The demon got up with difficulty and staggered away, reaching for another bottle of wine, his face flushed and his chest heaving. He popped the cork and took a swig. “Bloody hell, that’s good,” he sneered, their eyes meeting across the room.

          Aziraphale was breathless. His hair was a mess and his shirt was open. He sat up, touching his chest with one hand, and gulped. “The wine, or…?”

          “Us,” Crowley clarified. He couldn’t stop grinning. “I knew it would be. I mean, I didn’t know, but I knew.” With a giggle he took another long swig. “Invigorating.”

          “You were very convincing.” Aziraphale stared at him openly, fumbling to re-button his shirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that before. Wow.”

          “Me either!” Passing him the bottle, Crowley sat on the arm of the chair.

          Aziraphale drank. “Look at us.”

          “I know.” They passed the bottle again. Crowley drank.

          The angel watched him. “You’re not going to go, are you?”

          “Hm?” Crowley paused. “I don’t think so. Why, can’t live without me now?” He teased.

          Aziraphale met his eyes. “I never really could before - I just pretended to.”

          The humor faded from Crowley’s face for the first time. He looked away, red as a tomato, and nursed the bottle. “Big liar.”

          “Am not.” Aziraphale smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

          In the morning, they headed for Rio. It was quite odd for TSA, considering neither of them carried anything at all, including luggage, but they got through in due time and settled in to their long flight. During takeoff Crowley offered Aziraphale an ear bud and for the next 11 hours they watched 5 movies – including, but not limited to: The Breakfast Club, Zombieland, and The King’s Speech – as well as part of a documentary on penguins. Crowley spent a lot of time explaining the special effects of Hollywood and improv. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely convinced that the movies were made without angelic magic, though, and he stood firm by his belief.

          As they exited the plane amongst a hundred other starving, exhausted, strung-out humans, they were chatting away when the flight attendant found out where her stash of duty-free alcohol had gone to. The empty bottles filled a black garbage bag and was stashed in between the two seats of those weird old Brits. She wasn’t entirely sure how either of them were still alive, let alone sober, and made a mental note to put a lock on that stash next time. Unfortunately for her, demonic magic could pick locks.

            Considering the fact that neither of them had planned anything for their visit of Rio and neither of them spoke any Portuguese, let alone the blend of it they spoke in Brazil, they were utterly confused the entire first day. In fact, the pair of idiot sandwiches were confused the entire week, but that’s not the point. The point is that they were having quite a lot of fun and eating quite a lot of food.

            “Flights are the worst,” Crowley complained, wiping off his red jacket. He was dressed, as always, like he owned a high-end strip club that the prime minister frequented. “I’ll never get the smell of repressed agony out of this material.”

            Aziraphale, in his usual white tux, had used a little miracle to get them a room at a fancy hotel. He thanked the attendant who handed him the keys and led the way to the elevator. “Quite dreadful. I’ve never seen so much silent suffering.”

          The bell to the top floor dinged. The unlikely pair stepped out and unlocked the big whit door. Unfortunately, Aziraphale hadn’t been specific about the details, and they’d gotten a room with only one bed. Fortunately, though, neither of them slept or took up any space at all. The room was just going to be the place that they got wasted every night. Crowley flopped back onto the bed as Aziraphale opened the blinds. “Nice place,” Crowley said.

          “Nice view, too,” Aziraphale grinned.

          “What should we do first?” Cracking open a pamphlet, Crowley crossed his legs and bobbed his foot. “They’ve got a killer pool here.”

          “I’ve never worn a swimsuit in my life and I don’t plan to start now.”

          “Who said anything about suits?”

          Aziraphale turned pink. “Now see here…!”

          Laughing, Crowley tossed the pamphlet at him. “We haven’t got genitals, moron!”

          “Oh… right.”

          The crowded streets didn’t deter them from walking all day and all night, getting lost several times in the process. They ate at the most expensive restaurant in the city and got drunk on a park bench. Aziraphale kept giving out miracles to the less fortunate, and every time he helped another human Crowley would make a tourist miserable. It became a game. Aziraphale gave a gaggle of children a free hot meal from a generous vendor and Crowley got the vendor to steal some rich guy’s wallet. Aziraphale forced Crowley to stop when he made a pale woman in skimpy clothing fall down a short set of stairs.

          When they finally made it back to the room, it was almost 2am. They collapsed onto the bed at the same time. Grinning ear to ear, Crowley giggled, but Aziraphale was exhausted.

          “No more walking, not ever,” the angel huffed.

          “All in good fun. Didn’t I tell you we needed a vacation?”

          “I need a vacation from your vacation.”

          Crowley sat up on his elbow, leaning over the angel. “Want to go to the pool?”

          Aziraphale looked up at him like he had six heads. “I’m not going _skinny dipping!_ ”

          “Hell knows we wouldn’t want to offend your posh sensibilities,” Crowley teased. “Come on, wear whatever you want but I want to go swimming!”

          “Tomorrow?” Aziraphale begged. “I can’t move an inch.”

          “Don’t be such a wet blanket!”

          Sighing deeply, Aziraphale struggled to sit up, hands on his knees. “Fine. But you have to carry me.” They exchanged a look and burst into giggles.


	7. Chapter 7

          Of course, the pool was abandoned. The last party-goers had retired to clubbing and the hotel was quiet. Crowley opened the door to the rooftop pool, its lavish decorations made in a brilliant array of colors. Everything looked like a rainbow. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky but the light pollution blocked out the stars, making it into something of a grey mask. Crowley and Aziraphale walked to the edge of the pool, scoping it out.

          “Pretty deep,” Crowley said approvingly.

          “Certainly.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as Crowley began to undress. “Whatever are you doing?!”

          Slipping off his sunglasses, Crowley shot him a coy smile. “I said _you_ can wear whatever you want. I won’t be wearing much of anything.”

          “BUT… CROWLEY!” Aziraphale quickly spun away as Crowley removed most of his clothing, folding it neatly on a chair, and stepped out of his shoes. “What if we get caught?!”

          “We’re celestial beings, it’s fine,” the demon replied. He stood back in his red briefs to stretch. “Come on, then.”

          Slowly, curiosity got the better of the angel, and he turned to look. Crowley and himself were by no means young souls. Both of them had aged their bodies to suit how they felt, and both of their human bodies were near 50, but in all that time Crowley had been meticulously keeping up with his health – unlike Aziraphale, who mostly sat around and enjoyed eating. Crowley was trim, tan, and rugged despite his slender limbs and waist, and when he shot the angel a grin, he turned to jump into the pool and revealed the twin scars on his shoulder blades from where his wings used to be.

          Aziraphale found himself breathless once again in the demon’s presence, as was customary, but this time by no fault of his own. The splash made by his lover almost reached him and he quickly side-stepped it to preserve his outfit. “Fine,” he said shakily. “Just fine.” He disappeared into the locker room to preserve his dignity and returned in a white one-piece, arms crossed over his chest. He was pale and soft in the middle, proportionately so, and had quite a fine pair of legs. “I hate this,” he said.

          “You look ravishing,” Crowley called from across the pool where he was back-stroking. “Just get in.”

          Grumbling, indignant, Aziraphale sat on the edge and put his feet into the water. It was surprisingly warm. He sighed and sat up with a stiff back. “I’d much rather be fully clothed in private.”

          Popping below the surface like a fish, Crowley drifted quite quickly towards Aziraphale, emerging gracefully to his left. He folded his arms on the lip of the pool. “I’m sure that you would, wet blanket.”

          “Well, I never!”

          “Me either, not until I met you,” Crowley shot back.

          Aziraphale flushed. “You didn’t seem to be lacking in genitals, Crowley! I thought angels didn’t have any?”

          The demon shrugged. “I did some studying up and conjured some. I like them. You should try it sometime.”

          “I don’t know. I’ve no idea what would be proper.”

          “There’s nothing proper about bodies, angel.” Crowley slipped through the water, lifting himself up so he was half-in half-out, and drew in alarmingly close to the angel’s reddened face. “I could give you a hand.”

          Aziraphale felt dizzy. “Don’t you dare,” he whispered, awestruck by the beauty of the demon, soaking wet and still as hot as ever. Of all the Earthly pleasures he enjoyed, sex had never been one of them. He still hadn’t got any genitals and he had wanted to keep it that way. Until now, that is. “You still move too fast for me, Crowley.”

          Kissing him, just once, Crowley left a bite mark on his bottom lip. Then he was gone, vanishing below the water without a droplet out of place. He kicked off the wall and swam off.

          Touching his aching lip, Aziraphale found himself craving more. “I can’t believe I’ve let you tempt me this far.”

          “It was pretty easy, actually.” Crowley said, floating on his back. “You seem to work yourself up into such a tizzy. All I have to do is make the first move.”

          “Let me be. I’ve never even courted anyone before.”

          “Courting?” Crowley cackled. “No one courts anymore.”

          “What, then?”

          “They date.”

          “Date?”

          The demon nodded sagely. “When two people date, they normally dress quite well and go out together to eat or watch a movie or something, then they eventually kiss or bugger or whatever and move in with one another.”

          Horrified, Aziraphale gaped at him. “But that’s so sudden!”

          “Not as I made it sound. Besides, we’ve known each other for over 6,000 years. Loosen up a bit!” Crowley leaned his elbows on the opposite lip of the shimmering blue pool, the reflections casting his sharp features in an attractive light. “You and I are far closer than anyone could ever get.”

          “Wow. You’re right. I… never thought about it like that.” Aziraphale sighed. “I never thought about a lot of things like that.”

          “Don’t blame yourself.”

          “I’ve got to. I cared deeply for you all this time, but… I was confused. I didn’t know love could exist if two people were so at odds.”

          Crowley froze. “So… you do love me?”

          “Of course I do,” Aziraphale muttered, glancing at him shyly. “Don’t go spreading it around.”

          The demon grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

            Getting up, Aziraphale held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go back.”

            Crowley swam over and grasped it, letting the angel haul him out. They stood toe-to-toe for a brief moment, unable to let go, unable to look away, but Aziraphale chickened out and made a bee-line for the locker room. Dripping wet, ripe with adrenaline, Crowley couldn’t contain a grin. He snatched a towel off the rack, rubbing his hair with it.

 

* * *

 

 

            The room was chilly in comparison to the warmth of the pool. Crowley yawned as they opened the door, stretching his arms way over his head, and Aziraphale gave him a look that said, ‘celestial beings don’t get tired, you ninny’ but it was lost on him. The demon put his stack of clothes aside. “It’s been a while since I indulged myself. I think I’ll sleep tonight,” he said.

            “Sleep? Really?” Aziraphale stared at him.

            “Yeah. Never tried it?”

            “Once. Didn’t love the out-of-body feeling.”

          Crowley tossed aside his towel and sat down on the end of the bed. “You’re missing out. It’s such an easy way to pass the time! Plus,” he flopped backwards, “beds!”

          The angel was tempted. Crowley was wearing a cotton shirt and briefs, but he was more exposed and softer than Aziraphale had ever seen him. He had the feeling it was going to become a habit. The idea flustered him. “I’ll think about it.” Pulling out a book from thin air, the angel sat in the armchair in the corner by the window, pretending to read.

          “Suit yourself.” Crowley clapped and the lights all turned off.

          Aziraphale huffed and snapped his fingers, illuminating a lamp beside him. He lifted the book to cover his face, scanning the words with zero comprehension, waiting it seemed for the right moment to change his mind about sleeping next to Crowley. He peeked over the top of the page as the demon put his glasses on the night stand and fluffed a pillow behind his head before releasing a long-winded sigh. One yellow eye opened to peer at him, but the angel quickly looked down again.

          Smirking, Crowley closed his eye and lay back to wait. His moronic arrogance had gotten quite a boost from Aziraphale’s recent attention – having finally gotten a sensual raise out of the angel inspired him to new heights. What else could he tempt him into doing? What devious, sinful things would the angel do for him? What lustful things would the angel let him do? He could barely contain his excitement. It was hard to sleep with that anticipation in his blood. Thankfully, Aziraphale sat obviously not reading for just an hour. He at last he put down his book, getting to his feet, and Crowley groaned from the bed. “Come here,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

          “F-Fine. Just… wait a moment.”

          “I’ve waited an hour already!”

            Aziraphale made a noise of protest as he carefully peeled off his clothing. “Give me a moment!” When he was in just a sleeveless tank and white briefs, he stood frozen, now knowing what to do next. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

            Crowley waved his hand. “Come lay with me.”

            “I can’t.”

            “Yes, you can. Just lay down.”

            Shuffling awkwardly, the angel lay flat on his back with his arms at his sides, maybe a foot away from Crowley and directly on the edge of the bed. He stared at the ceiling. His heart was pounding a mile a minute. “I’ll never sleep this way.”

            “No, you won’t,” the demon grunted. “So _come here_.”

            “I-I don’t quite know what that entails.”

            Reaching over, Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer until they were touching. “Turn on your side.”

            Aziraphale was stiff as a board, arms crossed over his chest as he obeyed. “Like this?”

            “Good.” Crowley took the angel’s curly head and put it on his chest. “There. How’s that?”

          The vibration of Crowley’s voice against the side of Aziraphale’s head was like a massage. The soft motion of his breathing, the warmth of his chest and body, the smell of him… Aziraphale was in heaven. “Nice,” he breathed.

            Crowley put an arm around him. “Good. Now close your eyes and relax.”

            His hand was a welcome pressure against Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel did as he was told, releasing a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Every inhale delivered to him more of Crowley’s scent. He felt totally at ease. He barely noticed when Crowley lifted a sheet over him, and they both dropped off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and sweet, they will be longer when the new week begins!

For some reason, it was still dark when Aziraphale woke. His body pulled out of sleep heavily and slowly, as it had never actually done so before, and it took him a minute to realize that he was alone. He sniffed and looked around blearily. “Crowley?” He called.

            “Not far,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale turned to see him sitting in the comfy chair in front of the television sipping a Bloody Mary. He was wearing his sunglasses but he was still in his briefs, lounging quite comfortably. He smirked. “Sleep well?”

            The angel sat up, stretching and smiling. “Actually, yes. What time is it?”

            “2am.”

            “What did you say?”

            Crowley giggled. “It’s 2am, angel. You just slept for 24 hours.”

            “I WHAT?!” Aziraphale wheezed. “You didn’t…?!”

            “Leave? Of course not! You were defenseless!”

            “Really,” Aziraphale muttered, touching his face. “I can’t believe it. Was I that tired?”

            “Must’ve been.” Getting up, Crowley offered him the drink but he declined. The demon sat on the edge of the bed with a smile. “I rather enjoy watching you sleep. I’ve never heard you say such nice things about me before.”

            Aziraphale gave him a look. “I did not talk in my sleep. Absolutely not.”

            “You absolutely did.”

            “Oh, really? What did I say?”

            Crowley pulled him in close, stroking his hair. “Something about my beautiful eyes, my long legs, my suave walk…”

            “Liar,” Aziraphale breathed. He kissed Crowley delicately, sweetly, and left a ghost kiss on his lip afterwards. The demon was oddly still as the angel reached up and took off his sunglasses. Aziraphale immediately saw why. The look in his yellow eyes was soft and unguarded like he’d never seen before. Maybe it was because he was in love, or maybe it was because it was the first time Aziraphale had ever initiated anything between them, but either way Aziraphale enjoyed the rush of love that bubbled up from his belly for that look. He enjoyed it quite a lot. “You’re too handsome for me, Crowley.”

            “I told you,” the demon protested. “You look ravishing.”

            Aziraphale studied him. “All the time?”

            Crowley only smiled. He leaned their foreheads together for a moment before he got up again, sipping his drink and looking out over the city. Aziraphale watched the arch of his bare back illuminated by the lamplight. “The night isn’t so young anymore, but we can still do something if you want,” the demon offered, turning around. “Any ideas?”

            “I do have one idea.” Aziraphale patted the bed beside him.

            Arching an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth quirking, Crowley made a noise of approval and sauntered over. He took another sip of the drink before putting it on the nightstand. Aziraphale made room for him. “Tell me all about it,” Crowley said, leaning in close.

            The angel sighed as Crowley’s hand drifted over his belly, lingering there. “I’m not quite sure where to start.” His lips parted as the demon whispered in his ear and all the blood rushed to his face. “T-There would be a good a place as any… I suppose… I just don’t know-”

            “Relax. I’ll show you some blueprints.”

           

* * *

 

 

          When Antony Crowley had woken up this morning, it had been noon. He had taken a long shower, ordered breakfast, and conjured himself a Bloody Mary by 2pm. Usually when he was alone in a new city he had a routine that he carefully followed: it began with a city tour, went into finding every single important historical area and vandalizing at least one, eating at every single restaurant of interest, and finding the highest point in the city and calling for a horde of rats to send the city into a small panic. The rat thing sometimes didn’t work - language barriers and all that – but he almost always fit in enough time to learn the correct translation. Lastly, he always got a good night sleep and strategically watched every single movie on the in-flight screen that he had yet to see.

          In stark contrast, being accompanied to a new city was, for Crowley, a unique experience. Not only had he shared his movie experience with his lover at the start instead of the finish but he had absolutely no desire to go off and consume every bite of the city immediately. This was strange for him. As an angel, Aziraphale was messy and flighty, even airheaded at times, and he was never neat except for in couture. As a demon, Crowley was meticulous and organized, even anal at times, and he was always hard-pressed for ways to re-organize his life more efficiently. He had a burning desire to consume all entertainment and new experiences in his path as quickly as possible. It was his curse to never be sated. Aziraphale was blessed with constant contentment.

          The angel was all Crowley could see, all he could think about, and all that he wanted, even in one of the most famous and glamorous cities in the world. The light of the day flew by totally unseized as the demon binge-watched movies in Portuguese. He ate, and he drank, and he often missed big chunks of the plot when Aziraphale made a soft noise or he turned over because Crowley felt compelled to stare at him for as long as it took him to settle back down again. There was something so comforting about having someone asleep in his bed. Well, not _exactly_ his bed, but still. Aziraphale’s face was even more angelic and pure when he was asleep. Crowley couldn’t get enough of the angel’s soft curves, his curly hair laying across the pillow, or the sound of his soft, constant breathing. Crowley had a burning desire to protect him – but that was nothing new. He just had the advantage of being close at hand this time.

          Then it was dark again, and Crowley was on his fifth Bloody Mary, and Aziraphale was just waking up, and the demon realized for the first time that he’d totally neglected his usual meticulous routine. The loneliness had lifted from his chest like a great weight. The need to consume had evaporated. And he felt at ease.

          He helped Aziraphale conjure himself a brand new pair of genitals. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to see them, but their design had been, by him, heavily facilitated. Aziraphale had Crowley show him how to use the shower so that he could take one on his own, so now the demon was lounging once again, drunk and still drinking. His lover was bathing and adjusting to the new parts of himself. There was a new movie on TV. And all was right with the world.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a link to the site all about Sugar Loaf Mountain! I really want to go to Rio now.   
> https://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g303506-d311247-Reviews-Pao_de_Acucar-Rio_de_Janeiro_State_of_Rio_de_Janeiro.html

          The next morning Aziraphale convinced Crowley to go on a tour to Pao de Acucar, Sugar Loaf Mountain, which involved several things that Crowley hated: crowds, long lines, and heights. It was one lone mountain in a cylindrical shape that rose proudly over the countryside. The surrounding scenery was amazing, but the wait time in line was a minimum of three hours, which Aziraphale took advantage of to read up on the mountain.

          “March 1, 1565, Estacio de Sa founded the City of Sao Sebastiao in Rio de Janeiro literally on its feet! And the Cable Car open on Sugarloaf projects Brazil’s name worldwide. It has been the first cable car installed in Brazil and the third in the world,” the angel chattered, smiling ear to ear and watching the cable cars excitedly.

          They were boxed in on every side by smelly, sweaty humans, and Crowley was growling angrily under his breath every time one of them bumped into him or his angel. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. Holding in this much disgust was definitely not good for his digestion. Aziraphale asked him if he was paying attention, and he grunted in response.

          “Are you alright?” The angel touched his hand.

          Looking at his soft expression, some of the disgust drained away, and Crowley twisted their fingers together. “Fine. Tell me more about this… what is it? Sugar Cube?”

          “Sugar Loaf Mountain,” Aziraphale corrected.

          “Oh, right.” Crowley smiled despite himself. “Shortbread Mountain.”

          “Come now, Crowley!”

          “Only if you ask nicely,” Crowley quipped. He got in close with a coy grin and offered himself for a kiss. Aziraphale sucked in a shaky breath. Blush spread across his pale face as he grasped Crowley’s lapel tightly and kissed the demon hard, a hand curling into his white hair. Crowley snuck some tongue into the kiss. Both of them were weak in the knees when they pulled away, hovering close together for support, and finally their number was called to go up in the cable car. Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand.

          The angel shot him a sweet smile. “It’s going to be just fine, Crowley.”

          Crowley’s heart melted. He nodded absently as he was pulled through the crowd and out onto the platform. The wind whipped at his short hair. They stepped into the cable car and took their position in the crowd. Aziraphale pressed himself to the window as Crowley sucked in a deep breath, clutching the bar for dear life. “This is why I don’t miss my wings,” he managed.

          “It’s perfectly safe,” Aziraphale said. He pressed close to Crowley to comfort him, studying his normally tan face as it lost all color. “Are you sure you’ll be alright, my dear? You’re awfully grey.”

          “I won’t vomit, if that’s what you mean.” Crowley braced himself as they lifted off the ground and began to rise, rocking back and forth dangerously. His vertigo tilted. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it. “I may be wrong.”

          Holding his arm tightly, the angel rubbed his back. “Look!” He whispered.

          The demon glanced over and did a double-take as they rose over the lip of the cliff. Stretching out as far as the eye can see were deep, blue ocean waters, dotted with colorful surfers, yachts, and sailboats. Lush foliage lined the beaches. Tall cliffs spilled over with undergrowth and beautiful birds, microscopically small, darted between the branches of the forest trees. Crowley could feel himself rising like a God above the planes of humanity. “So this is what She’s all uppity about,” he muttered. “The view.”

          At the top of the mountain there was a viewing platform topped with a white awning. They stepped out onto it and Crowley was the first one to the edge, leaning into the crisp ocean breeze. He breathed it in deeply. Aziraphale appeared at his side, smiling. “Incredible, isn’t it?”

          Crowley looked at him. “Yes. You are,” he replied.

          They clung to each other kissing and rocking with the motion of the cable car all the way back, ignored by the humans who were too consumed by the view to pay attention to them.

 

* * *

 

 

          Prainha Beach was empty when they arrived. It was an hour to sunset, and they’d collected some Brazilian dishes in a picnic basket that was slung over Aziraphale’s arm. They sat in the warm sand by the waves eating and sipping champagne. There were fruits and different meats, sweets, and drinks. As the sun set, so did their conversation, and silence followed the dying of the light. Aziraphale put aside his empty glass, staring out over the water.

          Crowley stared at his lover, swirling the champagne in his glass. “I could really go for some sex on the beach.”

          “Not after champagne. Maybe at the hotel bar, later tonight.”

          “That’s not what I meant.” Crowley sipped his drink.

          Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I have a feeling that would be quite awkward.”

          “What for?”

          “Sand… everywhere? Really, Crowley?”

          “The shower afterwards is the best part,” the demon joked.

          Blushing, Aziraphale clutched his hands in his lap and looked away. “I’m not quite ready for all that, I don’t think.”

         “I was only joking.” Crowley touched Aziraphale’s knee gently. “There’s no rush. We have all of eternity for that sort of thing.”

          “Why are you being so patient with me?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, staring at him. “Haven’t you had… the capability… for a long time?”

          Crowley rubbed his neck. “Sure. The transition was a little… confusing, at first,” he admitted. “At first I thought I’d made a big mistake.”

          “Really?”

          “Mmm. But… I feel whole now in a way I never did before. Besides, I wanted to get some celestial action _eventually_.”

          Aziraphale blinked. “Were their other demons around?”

          “With you, idiot,” Crowley shot back.

          “Me?” The angel’s brain seemed to short out. He couldn’t comprehend anyone being sexually attracted to his pasty dadbod. Poking his belly, he made a face that made Crowley burst out laughing. The angel looked at him, slack-jawed. “You’re not serious?”

          “Shut up!” Crowley giggled. “You truly underestimate yourself, angel!”

          Aziraphale shook his head in awe. “You’ve got the sex appeal of an American actor in his golden years,” he protested. “I’ve got the sex appeal of a bowl of Jell-O at _brunch!_ ”

          Laughing uncontrollably, Crowley clutched his stomach.

          Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. The infectious laughter wasn’t quite enough for him. He still felt terribly dumpy next to his angular boyfriend and unless he miracle away some fat, it would take him ages to get in shape. Maybe not as in shape as Gabriel, but trim, if possible. He sighed. It seemed an impossible task.

          “Hey,” Crowley said breathlessly, still grinning. “You’re gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

          “Liar.” Aziraphale grumbled.

          Snapping, Crowley made the picnic basket and all the leftovers vanish, leaving them alone in the sand. Then he stood up. “Come on.” He offered his hand to the angel, who took it wearily. Crowley pulled him to his feet and they stood toe to toe, inches from the lapping of the waves. They breathed each other’s breath. They felt each other’s warmth. As their fingers twined together, Crowley took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling Aziraphale’s scent of shortbread cookies and musty old books. He shut his eyes briefly. It was the scent of their years together: their fights, their glum brooding, and even their loving reunions. It was the scent of long nights and empty wine bottles, the two of them blathering over any kind of nonsense that crossed their mind. When he opened his eyes, he felt a stab of aching love, looking deeply into the pitiful gaze of his lover. Still, he couldn’t contain his smile.

          “There’s nothing that matters more to me than you do,” Crowley said quietly. “Your body is just one of the many, many things I am infatuated with about you. You’ll see. When you’re ready, I’ll be able to show you what I can barely use words to describe.”

          Aziraphale cracked a soft smile. “Crowley. You flatter me.” He sighed in frustration. “I wish I were like you. Confident. Comfortable in my own skin.”

          “Comfortable? I thought I was bloody skeletal until you said otherwise.”

          “You didn’t.”

          “I did, honestly. I’m cracked like an egg.”

          “Shut up,” Aziraphale chuckled.

          Smirking, Crowley took the angel’s face in his hands. “I love you.”

          The angel touched Crowley’s chest tenderly. “I know.”

          This time when their lips met it was slow and tender, like they were sharing a kiss for the first time. In a lot of ways they were very old, and in others they were very young, virginal and pure in love and glowing with it. No one else – besides you, me, and Crowley himself – that Crowley was a virgin as much as his angelic lover, and he often vaguely danced around the subject whenever it came up. Sometimes he’d get asked how many women he’d slept with and he’d say something like, “I’ve been too busy to keep track of women a’tall,” or, “Women? Who’s got the time?” When he was asked about how many men he’d slept with, he’d say something along the lines of, “If only,” and sigh, or, “Darling, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

          When, to be perfectly candid, Crowley barely felt anything for anyone at all. Aziraphale had always been able to rile him up in ways he was too dense to understand and for a number of years he’d held it against him. But now, finally knowing his body enough to understand when it wanted something – or someone, in this case – Crowley had found that only one person was worth the effort of courting. And it was his mortal enemy. Fortunately for the both of them they were horrible at their jobs. Their shared blunders bonded them in ways neither could have predicted, and now… now Crowley craved many intimacies with Aziraphale, including the physical ones.

          On the bus ride home Crowley explained this in blunt terms to his angel. Aziraphale sat in stunned silence for over twenty minutes. Then, at last, he said, “Fantastic. Now neither of us know where to put it.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, NatKing, for the proper translation! <3

          The night seemed to crawl like molasses from a jar. Although his angel lay slumbering quietly by his side, Crowley laid awake in bed with his hands behind his head. His yellow eyes bored holes in the ceiling. For the second time in his life he was too anxious to sleep. His desire to consume had left him – now, normally, this would be a good thing but for a demon, it was… complicated. His need to consume had kept him constantly busy, always on edge, and never without something to look forward to, but it was much easier to keep going when your momentum was similar to that of a high powered steam locomotive. The absence of that momentum left him wanting. Lethargic. Hapless, even. He didn’t like it.

          Then there was the sex. Or… the lack thereof.

          Cursing, Crowley got up and left. The door clicked quietly closed behind him, the lush carpet soft against his bare feet. He put his hands in his trouser pockets. All he had on was a button-up shirt, sunglasses, and slacks, but he couldn’t care less right now. He went slouching down the hall in search of fresh air. He didn’t find what he was looking for in the cool silence of the stairwell, or the dark lobby with its soft upholstered chairs, but up at the pool it was silent and the air was crisp.

          Leaning against the railing, he stared out over the city, brooding. It was so difficult for him to get passed the obstacles in his life that seemed to appear when he was at his most vulnerable. Not that he would ever admit to it, but Crowley often had dramatic mood swings for whatever reason and he never failed to fall victim to them. The more he thought about things the worse he felt, and the worse he felt the more he hated everything. He hated this beautiful city. These ignorant humans and their death machines be damned. But more than anything, he hated the way that being in love made him feel – vulnerable, an easy target for heartache, and hapless.

          He put his head on the railing cushioned by his hands. He just couldn’t win the game of life. _I’m probably cursed,_ he thought miserably. _I’ve fallen in love with an angel,_ _but I’m still not happy._

          When he’d thought heaven’s devils had killed Aziraphale in the book shop, he’d been inconsolable. His best and only friend. Gone. Of course, they’d been walking a very thin line between rebellion and servitude for a millennia, so the danger of them being killed had probably passed by now. After all, they’d failed once. Crowley was sure that they were the terrors of the afterlife – an angel immortal to hellfire and a demon immortal to holy water. That was all over, he tried to tell himself, but still he felt crummy. He’d never been satisfied before. It had been nice at first, but the longer he felt it, the more uncomfortable he became. _I dunno,_ he thought. _Maybe I could learn to like it._ After all, he did get Aziraphale out of the deal. Aziraphale every single minute of every single day. His heart lifted at the thought.

          Still, he wasn’t sure. After the initial infatuation wears off the angel might get tired of him, then he’d be left alone – empty – with his haplessness and his cold, still heart. He sat heavily into a chair by the pool and stared into the rippling water. No matter how afraid Hell was of him, if he slept with Aziraphale, they _would_ come after him. He crossed his arms tightly. He wanted more than anything to just enjoy his life with his dear angel, eating, drinking, and talking until they turned to dust and returned to the Earth, once more part of the same whole. Their atoms would blend together, swirling up into the air, mixing and bonded as was never possible in these physical forms. Crowley closed his eyes. He wondered what it would feel like. The end. 

 

* * *

 

 

          When Aziraphale woke, he was alone again. He sniffed and blinked his bleary eyes. “Crowley?” He called. But this time, there was no answer. He sat up in bed, his brain not exactly processing things well. “Crowley?” He repeated. Crowley was probably just in the shower or something – right? Aziraphale rubbed his face and got up. It was cloudy and dim outside today. A storm hovered on the horizon. He turned on the weather forecast as he neatly made the bed and got dressed. When he walked over to check his reflection, he saw that the bathroom door stood open… and dark.

          The angel stood there, staring at his shadowed reflection in the mirror, and panic spiked his blood. Something was wrong. There was no way Crowley would just… go. Not without telling him first. For God’s sake, Crowley wouldn’t even go home to his flat without making sure that Aziraphale would expect a call at the shop the next day. The door slammed behind him as he walked briskly out of the room. The walls flashed by. He checked everywhere. The pool, the lobby, the lounge – Crowley was nowhere to be found.

          Crowds of people checking in flooded the lobby as Aziraphale took to the streets. He stopped abruptly on the curb, looking about him anxiously. Where did he even begin to look? His heart was in his throat. Things had been going so well. Had he given up and left? _Was it because… because of me?_ Tears pricked the corners of the angel’s eyes. He shook off his feelings of woe and hailed a cab. He knew just where to look.

 

* * *

 

 

          Emerging from the crowd, paper bag in hand and a borrowed laptop in the other, Crowley adjusted his sunglasses as he stepped into the elevator. A young woman with dark skin and long beautiful hair noticed the bouquet of flowers under his arm. “As flores são para seu namorado?” She asked. He turned and lifted an eyebrow at her. “The flowers,” she tried again. “For your lover?”

          His frown softened into a smirk. “Yeah, actually.” He held up the breakfast. “Too much?”

          “Just enough,” she smiled.

          When they came to Crowley’s floor, he nodded at her before he stepped off. She was still smiling when the doors closed. He unlocked the door to their room and flung it open. “Breakfast, angel!” He announced. When he didn’t get an answer, he slid the laptop onto the table and popped his head around the corner. The room was spotless… and empty. He blinked. “Angel?”

          He hadn’t just left… had he?


	11. Chapter 11

            As the morning light sparkled off of the stone cliffs overlooking the ocean, the waves lapped gently at the sandy shore, Aziraphale could remember exactly what it felt like to stand on the walls of The Garden of Eden with Crowley by his side, hovering beneath his wing as the first droplets of rain blessed the desert. The salty wind whipped in his face. The hot sun bore down on him. He stood barefoot in the surf, staring into the horizon feeling nostalgic. He was sure that this was where Crowley would come if he was running away. It was the polar opposite of where they’d begun their lives on Earth, after all, and here it was as though they’d reached the nexus of their relationship.

            They’d begun their journey alone in the desert. Here, at the edge of the ocean, together, they might finally be able to come full circle. That is… if this is actually where Crowley was.

            “I knew you’d be here.”

            Aziraphale’s heart soared. He turned to see Crowley standing in the sand with a bouquet of roses. The sunlight rippled off of the demon’s reddish hair. He took off his sunglasses, the relief in his eyes visible even from a distance. The wind ruffled the roses in his hand and Aziraphale could smell their fragrance even from here, even as tangled as it was with the smell of the sea. “I thought I’d be saying that to you,” the angel replied. “Where did you go?”

            “Me?” Crowley sauntered over, hooking his sunglasses on the deep plunge of his shirt. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went out and got you these.” He offered him the bouquet. “Breakfast, too, but you weren’t there when I got back.”

            “Flowers? Breakfast?” Aziraphale gushed. “Antony. Thank you.” He cradled the roses lovingly, looking from their blooming faces to Crowley’s affectionate eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought… I thought you’d run off. I was worried about you.”

            The demon shoved his hands into his pockets. “I almost did.”

            Aziraphale’s smile faded. “Why, Crowley?”

            Crowley shrugged awkwardly. “Just not used to this, I suspect.”

            “Whatever do you mean?” The angel reached out and grasped the end of his sleeve that dangled from his pocket. “Not used to what?”

            Crowley slowly removed his hand from his pocket and grasped Aziraphale’s in his own. He stared at the sand. “It’s difficult to explain.”

            The angel squeezed Crowley’s slender hand. “Talk to me. Please?” He said quietly.

            “I…” Crowley wrinkled his nose, glancing off. “I’m not sure where to start.”

            “Start at the beginning and go from there. If you get hung up, I can help you.”

            Hand in hand, they walked up the beach into the shade of the trees. The angel’s touch was like a security blanket to Crowley. As he walked, he kept his head down, until the shade slid over him. There Aziraphale took a seat on a moss-covered stone, the roses by his side, and Crowley began to pace the place where the sand became grass. His hands were deep in his pockets. He glanced at his angel, his brow lifted on one side and furrowed on the other.

            “All the way at the beginning?” Crowley asked anxiously.

            “All the way,” Aziraphale nodded.

            Crowley rubbed his face. “How long have you had… feelings… towards me?”

            “What kind of feelings?” Aziraphale joked softly. “Affectionate ones?”

            “Yes, those.”

            A bird called out overhead. A family of dark-skinned humans were gathering on the far end of the beach, laughing and hugging one another warmly. Thinking deeply, Aziraphale frowned. “I have to say… ever since France. It certainly became apparent to me, at any rate, that I cared about you very much. You often saved me from myself in those days but the joy I felt in hearing your voice back then was… unparalleled.” He smiled to himself. “All over crepes.”

            “You love crepes.” Crowley grinned crookedly.

            “I do.” Aziraphale chuckled.

            “Did you ever suspect that...”

            “That I might love you?”

            “Yes.”

            “No, never,” the angel admitted. “I have to say that I did, though.”

            “You… loved me then?” Crowley asked. He’d paused beneath a tree, the shade dappling across him attractively.

            “I always loved you. But as I love you now, I’d have to say… since France. Just subconsciously, I suppose.” Aziraphale touched the soft rose petals. “Why?”

            The demon was silent for a moment. He couldn’t look at Aziraphale. When he did speak, his voice was like a gentle breeze, sweet and delicate, refreshing in the way that a glass of ice-cold lemonade was on a hot day. “I’ve loved you since the beginning,” he whispered.

            There was nothing like the sound of a lover’s voice. Aziraphale felt a steep wave of love for him. Suddenly this wasn’t a demon, but a man, standing before an angel with his heart in his hands - shy, exposed, and terrified. Aziraphale held his breath. He felt like the hand of God herself had touched his heart.

            “Ever since the first moment I saw you. Your wings, your manner, your eyes… all of it,” Crowley confessed. “I thought at first it was because you were an angel, you know. All that light and love and whatnot wafting off of you. But as the years went on, the more I needed you. I craved the sound of your voice. I craved…” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Us.”

            “Go on,” Aziraphale coaxed.

            Crowley was flushed deeply. He tugged at his shirt collar and cleared his throat. “You were never far from my mind. Never. I was too stupid to realize it, but whenever I heard of you popping off and getting yourself in trouble, I couldn’t help myself. I had to be there.” He turned away, staring at the water. It was far off now. “Me, a demon, looking after an angel, like you were some lost puppy. I can’t believe how dense I was.”

            The angel stared at him with a dreamy look in his eyes. “We both still are.”

            Crowley chuckled. “I suppose so.” He turned, finally meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “There are things that I can’t give you.”

            “Like what?”

            “I dunno,” Crowley sighed, making a broad hand motion. “Human stuff. A family, I guess. Anonymity from our sides. Safety. Just a bunch of things.”

            “You want a family?” Aziraphale asked in shock.

            “Do you?” Crowley shot back.

            Their eyes met once more, and an unspoken message passed between them. They both blushed. Aziraphale fumbled for words. “I-I don’t _need_ any of those things.”

            “Yes, but I want to give them to you,” Crowley explained hotly. “You _deserve_ them!”

            “Antony,” Aziraphale said softly, and the demon melted onto a stone with his head in his hands. “Our life together is not your sole burden to carry! Whatever we do, wherever we go, and whatever may happen, we are in this together. I will stand by your side, whatever the cost.” He got up and put a hand on the top of Crowley’s bent head. “I would sacrifice everything to be with you, just as we are now, with nothing more and nothing less.”

            Crowley looked up at him. “Do you really mean that? You’re not just trying to make me feel better?”

            Aziraphale nodded. “I absolutely mean it. There is nothing that I need more than you. Don’t you recall when you told me that all I needed was to… be there for you?”

            “Sure. But I’m not an angel,” Crowley explained.

            “I’m not a demon, but I don’t need much more than you do.”

            Crowley sighed. “I want to give you everything.”

            Aziraphale sat with him. “You already have, darling. You are all that I will ever need.”

            Crowley looked at him in bewilderment.

            “Don’t ever run away,” Aziraphale begged. “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, please don’t run away from your feelings. Just come to me. I will always be here to help you through whatever it may be.”

            Crowley put an arm around the angel’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

            “Crowley.”

            Lifting up his head, Crowley met his eyes.

            Aziraphale studied him. “I love you.” For the first time, he noticed the glint in Crowley’s eyes and noticed that he was tearing up. The angel was deeply moved. “I wish I’d known,” he managed.

            Crowley rubbed his eyes and half shrugged. “Wouldn’t made much of a difference. I’m pretty hopeless.”

            Kissing his cheek, Aziraphale put a hand on his knee. “Let’s go home.”


	12. Epilogue

          A week had come and gone at last, and our Portuguese-ignorant couple climbed aboard the plane home and prepared for a long flight back to Soho. They sat with the armrest between them lifted, their hands twined together. Crowley yawned. Aziraphale chatted with the stewardess about tea. He insisted that it be brewed fresh for the good of all the passengers, including herself, and she looked at him like he was crazy. After all, she remembered them from last time. She had locked up her duty-free bottles of alcohol an hour ago, and now she made a mental note to not make all the tea fresh, but to grudgingly brew it fresh only for them as to avoid any more earfuls of advice.

          The shaking of the plane and the drone of the captain put Crowley to sleep. He slept soundly and silently beside his angel, who picked up his earbud and selected a movie from the view screen. It was some kind of war of infinity. For the entire duration, he was not only appalled but bewildered, and by the end he had tears in his eyes for the loss of the characters within it. He dabbed at his eyes with the handkerchief that had been a gift from Crowley. What a moving film. So many odd flying humans.

          Only after a few hours of listening to Bach did Aziraphale finally remember why they’d come on this vacation to begin with. He glanced over at Crowley, who was asleep on his shoulder with his hand still in a vice grip. His face was handsome and peaceful in sleep, his eyes softer, more tired, and his hard angles softened. He was beautiful. Sleeping next to him for a week in cramped quarters had shown the angel that he was capable of being a much better roommate than previously thought. Their long walks, long talks, and long nights together had given him a taste for companionship. Sure, his book shop could still stand, but maybe… just maybe… he could be happy with Crowley.

          Aziraphale smiled to himself. They were already happy. Time would only bring more love and adventure - he was sure of it. He leaned his cheek in Crowley’s hair and closed his eyes. Yes. They had all the time in the world.

>  

* * *

 

          The cab pulled up to Aziraphale’s shop, and the two of them got out to stand on the curb. The black car drove back into the light traffic. Overhead, the sky was prickling with the bright colors of sunset, and the clouds had parted just for now. It began to shower lightly so they stepped under the canopy of the door, glancing over the streets as everything glimmered with brilliant light. The rain looked as if it were made of diamonds. Drawing close together, they hovered only for a moment before walking into the shop. The bell rang. The door was locked behind them.

          “You know,” Aziraphale said, speaking up for the first time since they’d arrived, “I think I’d like to move in with you, to your flat.”

          Crowley stared at him, agape. “You’re serious? When?”

“No time like the present.”

          Laughing loudly, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale and kissed him. “I knew you’d say yes eventually! You’re really ready? To leave this place?”

           Aziraphale flushed, dizzy. “Well, I would like to leave the shop open. It keeps me busy, you know. I don’t like to be hapless.” The angel smiled at Crowley as he folded his coat and walked into the back of the shop. “You should get a hobby yourself.”

          “Hobby?” Crowley laughed. “I’ve got plenty. You’ll see.” He followed Aziraphale, glancing at the wine they had left. “Which bottle? To celebrate.”

          The angel sat snugly in his armchair, sighing with contentment. “Not sure. They’re all quite good ones, really.”

          Crowley made a noise of approval. He picked one at random and carried it and two glasses over to his angel. To Aziraphale’s shock, Crowley climbed onto his lap, facing him, settling down sensually on top of him. He offered him the bottle. “Care to uncork me?” He asked coyly.

          As the demon leaned in close, Aziraphale carefully removed his sunglasses and put them aside. “You first,” he breathed.

          Their lips met, and then their hands, and then their bodies; and Crowley had been right. There was nothing right or proper about bodies – especially not what they did with them that night. Tender things were found in intimacy. And all of them were new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your endearing comments, your incredible support, and your dedication to this piece!! I appreciate it, and I love you with all of my heart and soul. I'm sure I'll be writing much more of these two, so if you'd like, please check up on my page in the next few weeks for more fanfictions of Good Omens. Some will be raunchier. Most of them will be raunchier. I'm actually ashamed of how raunchy they will be. Do keep that in mind if you plan on pursuing me as an author. And once again, thank you so much!


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